


Spilled Anger

by sunaddicted



Series: 007 Games Fics 2k20 [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt, Frustration, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-SPECTRE, Rain, Somewhat Bond 25 Related, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: It had been hours since James had waltzed in his flat as if he owned the place, seemingly utterly uncaring of the fact that he had disappeared from Q’s world after leaving him a bottle of a champagne - that he didn’t even like, ha might add - and an empty spot in the place of the car he had been working on so hard, just because the great James Bond couldn’t resist pilfering shiny new rides here and there.[...]It had been hours and Q was still vibrating with anger[...]
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 007 Games Fics 2k20 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794529
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	Spilled Anger

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the "Turn" prompt of the Angst Prompt Table. 
> 
> It also fills Prompt 7 from the Anonymous Prompt Exchange (2020): the final angry farewell on some doorstep in the rain.
> 
> Angst galore!

_Spilled Anger_

It had been hours since James had waltzed in his flat as if he owned the place, seemingly utterly uncaring of the fact that he had disappeared from Q’s world after leaving him a bottle of a champagne - that he didn’t even like, ha might add - and an empty spot in the place of the car he had been working on so hard, just because the great James Bond couldn’t resist pilfering shiny new rides here and there.

Evidently, nobody had ever taken the time to sit the man down and explain to him that kleptomania was an impulse control disorder and one that could be tackled with therapy - oh, but of course the man wouldn’t consider it: he flew Psych almost as skillfully and as fast as Q did meetings with Finance, condemning R to them with little to no regret. 

It had been hours and Q was still vibrating with anger, the kind that coiled tighter and tighter in one’s bones until the body was filled to the brim, shaking and exhausted by the prolonged feeling of irritation, annoyance and pure, unadulterated rage. He just couldn’t believe the gall of the man, his mind going in circles in the vain attempt at understanding just what exactly had been Bond’s thought process when he had decided that yes, he could use Q one last time - as if he hadn’t already tossed him away like some kind of dirty rag, easily substituted by a new one.

Oh, Q knew that he had set himself up for heartbreak - he wasn’t really angry about the agent running off with Dr Swann: he really shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man, considered his history with beautiful women with tragic and tormented pasts that he met out in the field. Simply put, he could have never fit Bond’s requirements: he wasn’t beautiful or charming or haunted; he was the reliable man who spearheaded Q-Branch and while his past was shrouded in secret because of the role he occupied inside of MI6, he didn’t have any skeletons in the wardrobe waiting to come alive and give Bond a dose of excitement alongside his romance. But he _was_ angry about being disregarded so easily, as if he hadn’t done so much for the man; he had put his career and his credibility on the line for him and the least he deserved was for the man to say to his face that e was going to take the car, if he really had to.

Q sighed, shivering as the rain managed to find a way to slither beneath his parka; forsaking an umbrella hadn’t been his smartest idea but he hadn’t really been thinking about uch else but the route to Bond’s Chelsea apartment when he had gotten out of the house, deciding that the hood of his parka would do the trick against the light drizzle - he really should have imagined that the traitorous misting of water would evolve into a deluge and that he would regret his impulse decision to go and yell at Bond a little.

He squinted at the fancy hall of the building the apartment was in, glaring a little at the concierge studying him with a mix of suspicion and disdain; he doubted that he was going to be let in but that was alright, he knew Bond would take his ass downstairs if he thought he had any information even remotely pertinent to the mission - which would also save him the embarrassment of Dr Swann listening in on his piece because in no way the woman wasn’t rooming in with Bond: it only made sense, considering the fact that they had been sharing a home for the past months and Q didn’t really want to play the part of the jealous ex in her eyes.

He straightened his shoulders, trying to look confident even if he was a soggy mess and he had to squint behind his glasses because the lenses were stained by a myriad of annoying little droplets that there was no use in getting rid of because he had only his sweater to wipe them and he knew that would turn out into a smudgy, opaque mess that would make it even harder to properly see “Good evening”

“Good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

“Could you ask Mr Bond to come down?”

The concierge eyed him even more questioningly, clearly trying to understand how someone who always was as proper and well-put together as Mr Bond was could be involved with a guy who couldn’t even grab an umbrella when it had been raining on and off the whole day “Of course. Who should I say needs him?”

“Quentin from work” he had always hated the nickname, nobody in real life ever was named Quentin and, in his modest opinion, it made for a truly atrocious cover name but Bond would know who it was without having to wrack his brain too much and, cold and miserable as he was in that night, it was the only thing that really mattered to him at the moment: he wanted to say his piece, make sure that Bond knew things wouldn’t be as if he had never left and go back home where he could nurse his heartbreak in peace while cuddling with his cats “I’ll wait outside” he did feel a bit bad about dripping all over the carpet and some petty part of his mind relished in the idea of forcing Bond to talk to him under the rain, getting his expensive slippers or shoes or whatever ruined by the water.

Q didn’t wait for an answer and marched back outside, leaning against the wall in the hopes the building itself would offer him some repair; as he waited, a new emotion started to blossom in the depths of his belly: anxiety - it was subtle but it was undeniably there and Q knew it stemmed from the fact that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to go through his tirade once the man’s ice blue eyes would be upon him, filled with fake concern for his current sorry state. 

“Q? Is everything alright?”

He tried to mask the little jump he did at the sudden appearance of the man as he turned around to face him, trembling hands hidden deep in the damp and sticky pockets of the parka “I just need to talk to you” he took a step back when the man came closer, his umbrella awkwardly held up high in an attempt at covering them both.

James frowned at the gesture “Do you want to come upstairs? It’s cold and you’re sodden”

“Oh, thank you for pointing out the obvious - I hadn’t noticed that”

“Q-”

“-you come back into my life like a prick, with your demands and your confidence that I will do anything you ask me to but things are different”

“I-”

Q shook his head “-no. No, you only have to listen” if he let Bond talk, he knew the man would find a way with his words to mellow him out, he always did - just one more favour, just this last time, just this once… Q knew all of his tricks by now “I am tired of putting my ass on the line for you, it’s not in my job description and I don’t get paid enough for it. You want an airplane? A car? An exploding pen? I don’t care: you fill in all the necessary paperwork or talk with M but I’m not lifting a finger to help you get away with chaos this time” that.. had come out more coherently than Q had expected it to.

“Can I talk now?”

“The only thing I expect you to say is that you understood, Double-Oh Seven”

James pursed his lips, taken aback by the bitterness in Q’s voice; he had heard his sad, stressed, shocked, tired, frustrated, catty, sassy… but never angry - he had never realised up to that moment that he had never wanted Q to be angry with him, it made something inside of him agitated, disquieted by such a sudden change of attitude “Understood” it wasn't like the younger man had left him the space to answer any differently - not that James had been about to protest: he understood perfectly what kind of risks the other man had run for him again and again and it only made sense he wouldn’t want to run them for someone who wasn’t even part of the agency anymore.

He stood still as Q glared at him, his gaze as intense as when he was sat alone in front of a computer, fingers composing a melody of code that James could only vaguely perceive the beauty of. He wondered what he was looking for, waiting for Q to give him a signal as to what would be next now - they possibly couldn’t stand under the rain much longer.

Q gave a nod and started turning “Good”

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Home”

“Come in, let me at least call a cab for you”

The younger man looked over his shoulder, a part of him tempted to find refuge under Bond’s umbrella and let himself be led upstairs and cared for until the cab arrived to take him home but he didn’t need another half-dream to haunt him when he would inevitably think about the man in the loneliness of his bed “I don’t need you to” saying those words was harder than his entire speech about how he wasn’t going to let Bond take an advantage out of him anymore - it felt _final_ “Goodbye”

Plenty of people had turned their back on him in his life but James couldn't remember it hurting as much as it did right then, as he watched Q’s hunched shoulders disappear under the rain.


End file.
